


polychromatic

by pottersbutt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And harry loves it, Draco's eye colour changes depending on his mood, F/M, M/M, Mutual pining? i think?, Nightmares, Past Harry and Ginny, Sectumsempra Scars, Swearing, i feel like i should do bed sharing lol, i honestly have no idea what the fuck im writing, there's gonna be (poorly) written kissing scenes lol, venting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 20:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18598609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pottersbutt/pseuds/pottersbutt
Summary: polychromatic - of two or more or of varying colours; multicoloured.





	polychromatic

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a better, rewritten version of my ficlet "Kaleidoscope".
> 
> Also, i apologise in advance if i get some story details wrong, i haven't read the books in a while and i'm not gonna reread them just for this. So don't comment anything like "oh that's wrong because yadda yadda happened", because i probably know that i've got the details wrong.
> 
> Also, if you've noticed I've spelled some word's wrong, I probably haven't, I use the Traditional English spellings, not the simplified version.
> 
> I've also forgotten some of the teachers' names LMAO so im gonna make some up 
> 
> Enjoy the story regardless!  
>  
> 
> ~isavella

polychromatic

 

1997

Harry didn’t understand, but he loved Malfoy’s eyes. No matter how much he hated Malfoy, he could look into his ever-changing eyes for eternity. They were constantly changing, swirling from colour to colour, revealing his emotions to the world.

 

\--

 

1991

 

When Harry first saw them, it was when he was getting his robes fitted. He and Malfoy had roughly been about the same height. They stared at each other before speaking, Harry marvelling at this boys clothes and posture, he was so snobbish! Harry then scolded himself; it wasn’t nice to judge someone just by their attire. The unnamed boy (now known as Malfoy) had quite a pointy face, a little chubby, but Harry suspected when he grew older, his face would be all pointy and angle-y. His chin stuck out in a manner where Harry felt that the other boy wanted him to bow at his knees and kiss his shoes. Then they made eye contact.

 

Malfoy’s eyes, at the time, had been bright green. But not normal, pale or plain green. A colour so bright, so electric and so beautiful, Harry now wanted to bow down and kiss his shoes. Harry stared until he noticed the blond looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a cocked head. Harry busied himself by talking about Hogwarts. They talked for a little while, never introducing themselves, concealing their identity. When Malfoy’s mother floated into the shop to collect him, Harry was surprised to see Malfoy’s eyes flash deep blue, before returning to green. He turned to Harry, whose mouth was wide open, and bid him adieu.

 

\--

 

That night, all Harry could think about was that boy with pale skin, even paler blond hair and the eyes that seemed to flicker with his emotions, Harry had deduced. He was determined, when he got to Hogwarts, that he was going to find out who this mysterious, dare Harry say  _ pretty _ boy was. It bugged him to the point where he wrote a letter. A letter he promised to himself that he would never send, nor reveal to anyone.

 

_ To the boy that I met on the 1 _ _ st _ _ August 1991, _

 

_ I have never met someone like you. Someone whose eyes change like yours. I thought, for a good while, why they would do that. But I am no genius on magic or the science behind it. I do not know whether you have contracted a disease or just have a mutated gene that comes up in your family every 100 years or something like that. _

 

_ If we do meet each other at Hogwarts, I presume you will want to be my friend after finding out who I am. That’s what everyone in the wizarding world seems to want to do. Be my friend. I do not know why. I have only recently found out how my parents died. You probably know the story. Everybody does. It’s almost like it’s taught when you’re younger, or that it’s an urban legend that  _ **_your_ ** _ parents were told and its tradition to tell each generation.  _

_ I’m not entirely sure what happened that night, obviously. But I haven’t been told the whole story. I don’t know if I want to know yet. I only just learned that they didn’t die how I had been told, being told a whole new story; I feel would be too soon. Eleven years too soon, yes. Through my whole life, I had been lead to believe that they had died in a car accident. _

 

_ I have come to the conclusion that your eyes are a marvel. For those short minutes, we talked for before you mum interrupted us, I believed you had the same eye colour as me. But as your mother came to collect you, I noticed that they flashed red. I do not know what most colours are as emotions, but it is common knowledge that red is angry, green is happy and blue is sad. I think that your eyes are beautiful. A nuisance, they must be for you. The whole world knows what you’re feeling at that exact moment. Your parents bugging you non-stop when they notice a spark of blue in your eyes when moments ago they were electrifying green. _

 

_ I feel like I have spoken enough about your eyes and their weird habits. I will never send this letter unless we cross paths in the future and I feel compelled to tell you how I felt about your appearance when I was a feeble 11-year-old. I hope we meet again, as friends or as foe. _

 

_ From the raven-haired boy who wouldn’t stop at your eyes. _

 

Harry had reread the letter about sixty times before folding it into an envelope and tucking it into a pocket in the side of his trunk. A pocket he would forget about in about a month, then go onto to remember the letter when he was sixteen, maybe seventeen, then read it back to himself, cursing the idiocy of his eleven-year-old self.

 

Happy with himself, he flung himself onto his bed, fiddling with the arm of his glasses, before pulling them off and drifted off into sleep, dreaming of the boy with the polychromatic eyes.

 

\--

 

When Harry was on his way to King’s Cross, he was excited. Mostly because he got a full nine months away from the Dursley’s. But he also got to see the boy with the beautiful eyes again. He said his goodbyes, got escorted through the barrier by the lovely lady with ginger hair and her five children. His trunk got taken off him and for a brief second, his mind drifted to the letter he drafted the previous month. He panicked momentarily, then calmed. No one was going to find this letter, he had hidden it so perfectly.

 

Harry got onto the train by himself, finding a compartment and stepping in there quietly, despite it being deserted. He sat close to the window, leaning his head against it, staring at the emptying platform before him. The door rolled open again and Harry snapped his head to the left. The noise had startled him out of his daze. It was the same boy whose mother guided Harry through the barrier. Harry smiled gently at him, letting him know it was okay for him to sit. He sat opposite Harry, eyeing the lightning bolt scar on his forehead .

 

“Are you really Harry Potter?” He asked, finally. His eyes were blue; shining with what Harry expected was excitement.

 

“Yep! Nice to meet you! What your name?” Harry was intrigued; the ginger boy hadn’t asked him any personal questions like everyone else he’d met.

 

“My name’s Ron Weasley! It’s really nice to meet you. Your scars really cool, by the way, obviously not cool, why it got there, but it’s cool.”

 

They talked for a while, about this and that. Hogwarts, mostly, Ron knew a great deal because two of his older brothers had graduated from there and currently had three older brothers there, and had his younger sister joining Hogwarts next year. Ron shared his sandwich with Harry, and in turn, Harry bought him a load of sweets from the lovely old trolley lady.

 

They sat in silence after a fit of giggles took over them when one of Harry’s chocolate frogs jumped out the train window. Harry stared at his new friend, his genuineness made Harry’s heart soar. He hadn’t been like the other people he’d met so far, in his face, asking him all sorts of questions. Harry appreciated this, he almost felt like a normal boy.

 

“What house do you think you’re going to be in? I think I’m gonna be in Gryffindor, my whole family has been in-“

 

The door rolled open for the second time. Before it had been a girl with tight curls rambling on about a boys lost toad. This time it was a similar face. A look of recognition flashed across the blond’s face.

 

“So you’re the famous Harry Potter.” Again, his eyes were the same sparkling green they had been when they had spoken for the short moments in August.

 

“I am,” Harry replied, trying his best not to acknowledge the other boy’s intense stare, almost coaxing him to look back. He wanted to, so badly, look into his eyes.

 

Harry expected him to say something, but he merely looked around the room, sneered and turned on the ball of his feet and strolled out leisurely. Harry looked to Ron and raised his eyebrows, not saying anything.

 

\--

 

Once they got across the lake- Harry had forgotten its name already- the first years were guided into the castle, up a set of grand, grey stairs. Harry stuck to Ron like glue; he didn’t want to be separated from his new found friend. When they got to the top they were met with a set of heavy looking oak doors. A woman stood at the top, staring down at the group in a rather patronizing manner. Her spectacles lay on the bridge of her nose, enhancing her ‘scary’ look.

 

“In a moment, I will open these doors and you will be sorted into your House Groups.” She turned to her left, and went to another teacher, and spoke to him.

 

“I can’t believe Harry Potter would want to come here,” said the same voice Harry had heard twice previously in his life.

 

Harry turned and was met with light orange eyes. He frowned, what did orange mean?

 

“It’s better than where my aunt and uncle wanted to send me. “ He said simply, shrugging.

 

“Ah, yes, the  _ muggles _ ,” The other boy spat the last word and even though Harry knew what it meant, he was confused as to why it was said with such hatred and loathing. The other boy came up one more step, so he and Harry were chest to chest. He grinned earnestly at Harry. “My name’s Draco. Draco Malfoy.”

 

Harry heard Ron snigger. He had to admit, Malfoy milked his accent unnecessarily. Malfoy had turned to Ron and sneered. “Ginger hair, hand me down robes, you must be a Weasley. My father always told me Weasley’s had more children they could afford…” Ron made a sound of indignance. He smiled at Ron’s reaction, his eyes flaring bright green again. This stunned Ron into silence. “You’ll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don’t want to make friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

 

Malfoy stuck his hand out to Harry, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

“I think,” Harry murmured. “That I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”

 

Malfoy pulled his hand back, nostrils flaring, his ears red from embarrassment, eyes blaring deep red from anger. Harry’s eyes widened and he went to move back but remembered they were on stairs. If he moved back, he would fall and make a scene of himself in front of people he had to share classes with for the next seven years.

 

“It’s much scarier when they change colour, isn’t it, Potter?” Malfoy whispered as they were ushered into the Great Hall.

 

\--

 

present

 

In the dead of night, Harry woke in a cold sweat, as he had been doing since the war. The room was in silence, except for the soft snoring coming from Ron’s bed and the whistling of the Autumn wind. He stretched, sighing at the satisfaction of hearing his bones cracking. 

 

Harry looked around the room, squinting at the 2 other figures in the room, trying to figure out if they were actually asleep. After about two minutes of intense staring, he concluded that Dean and Seamus were asleep. He got out of the bed, looked around the room one last time, then headed out the dormitory, invisibility cloak in hand, wand in the other. 

 

Several times, when he was on the stairs, Harry stopped and listened to the surroundings, paranoid someone was going to come and tell him off. Then he remembered he was in his invisibility cloak, no one could see him. 

 

“Fuck you, paranoia,” Harry whispered to himself before climbing through the portrait into the vast, empty corridor where Harry followed the ghost of the Ravenclaw to the room of requirement. Harry looked to his left, there was another little corridor connecting to this one. Where he had flown out after room of requirement after it was set on fire by Crabbe, who died himself. 

 

Curiosity took over Harry and he made his way over to the door, which was locked and bolted. He opened it with a whisper of “ _ Alohamora _ ”. The door let out a creak and Harry slipped inside, and locking it behind himself, he was able to get back to the dormitory another way. 

 

It stood opposite him, about a hundred metres in front. Slowly, he moved forward, constantly listening out for Filch, or Mrs Norris. A window nearby was open, and a gust of wind passed through, and Harry removed the cloak momentarily, to refresh himself. It was boiling in the castle. Harry reached the door and sighed shakily. 

 

It looked how it always did. The whole seven years Harry had been here. Tall, old and intimidating. Unlike all the other doors in Hogwarts, this door was metal. Orange from rust, and cracks lining the top and bottom, running toward the doorknob, joining together. Once more, Harry’s eyes swept his surroundings, straining his ears for distant noises.

 

Then he opened it. The door groaned, and thick black smoke leaked out. Harry stepped back, covering his mouth, watching the substance crawl toward the one open window. At one moment, Harry believed he saw the smoke take form and wave goodbye to him, before seeping out the window, into the atmosphere. There was no trace of it ever being there. 

 

Harry turned his attention back to the room. He shuffled inside, for some reason, waiting for Crabbe to jump out and put him in a painful headlock, then give him a noogie. He was not greeted with a headlock, nor a noogie, as Crabbe’s body had been carried into the Great Hall a few hours after Harry killed Voldemort, black, charred and disfigured. Harry had noticed Malfoy, who was huddled into the corner of the Great Hall, was shivering, eyes dark blue, staring into the distance. Harry looked at him and resembled him to a lost puppy, and instantly felt sorry for him, so he looked for the most obnoxious looking blanket he could find. After, he marched over to Malfoy and draped a bright red blanket over his shoulders and smiled kindly at Malfoy. Harry’s heart softened when he noticed Malfoy’s flickered to green quickly, then went back to blue.

 

“It should be sufficient,” Malfoy had whispered, nodding in thanks. Harry had laughed, he remembered, then walked off, smiling to himself. 

 

Harry had a moment of realisation as he came back to reality. He could’ve died in this room. Hermione, Ron, Malfoy, Goyle and himself could have ended up like Crabbe. Charred, black and disfigured. The amount of times Harry has come close to death scares him. He’d never really thought about it too much before now, it was a minor inconvenience before, Harry was young, curious. He wanted to explore as much as he could. After each situation that happened each year, he was always grateful that he survived all those horrible things. But this was a real eye-opener, this happened during the war. It was inevitable some people were going to die. Harry had expected himself, to die, and he did, but it wasn’t permanent. If he did die, then he would’ve been unharmed, only the entrance of the spell being the violation on his skin. 

 

But  _ burning  _ to death is more permanent. The agony, of your lungs, filling up with smoke, flames engulfing your surroundings, the oxygen slowly decreasing in the atmosphere, the fire spreading like wildfire because of the flammable objects that would’ve surrounded them in the room of requirement. And once he would’ve died, the fire wouldn’t have stopped burning, it would’ve burnt through the room, leaving everything in the room layered with ash, only the lumps of bodies that would have stood out to the people that scouted the castle after.

 

Harry inhaled sharply and exited the room immediately. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be anywhere. So he went outside.

 

\--

 

1991

  
  


23rd December. The day people either stayed at Hogwarts or went home. Decorations were draped everywhere, even mistletoe. It was triggered by anyone over the age of fourteen, so first years, second years and the youngers of third years didn’t need to worry. 

 

It was quite funny, Harry thought, seeing a teenager go so red, so quickly, when they walked under the mistletoe. Multiple times, Harry, plus other fifteen to twenty students around, had heard many confessions. Murmurs of names. People squealing when two people who everyone had obviously bet on, kissed.

 

Harry wondered, in three years, whose names he’d be saying to get out from under the mistletoe. Because it isn’t normal mistletoe. It’s invisible, only appearing if someone over the age of fourteen walks under it. The only way for you to get out is to say the name of the person you truly desire or do something horrific in front of the whole school.

 

**(AN: I can’t believe I just wrote 2 ½ paragraphs on magic mistletoe. jdjshjsj)**

 

Harry entered the Great Hall, Ron on his left. The house tables seemed empty, only a few students from each house were staying. The rest were making their way down to Hogsmeade Station. Then a group of three cloaked people caught Harry’s eyes.

 

Harry turned, eyes narrowing. “Malfoy? Why aren’t you in Hogsmeade? The train leaves in twenty minutes. You’ll have more time to annoy the hell out of me when you get back.”

 

Malfoy smirked, eyes dull green, borderline orange. Harry was still to find out what orange meant. “Oh, I know it leaves in twenty minutes, Potter. I just wanted to give my favourite enemy a proper goodbye.”

 

Harry frowned. “ Your favourite - what? Malfoy, I don’t think you’re okay-” 

 

Ron put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s messing with you, mate. Ignore him.” He whispered, blue eyes, staring right at Malfoy, who was still smirking. 

 

Harry did what Ron told him. He merely looked Malfoy up and down, nodded, then strolled to the Gryffindor table. Ron sat down next to opposite him, pouring both of them pumpkin juice. 

 

“His eyes turned red after you walked off. The same red when you didn’t shake his hand. I don’t think he likes it when you take his mannerisms and use them against him.” Ron slurped down the juice, eyes still trained on Malfoy. “I don’t think he likes it at all.”

 

Harry tore his eyes away from the table and looked back up to the Slytherins. Malfoy was staring right back at Harry, and surely enough, his eyes were dark red. Harry scoffed. 

 

“Imagine letting  _ me  _ get under your skin.” He mumbled, reaching out to grab a leg of chicken and some potatoes. He looked back at Malfoy. “Piss off! Go and get your train, you prat.”

 

Malfoy actually smiled. Not a smirk, not a condescending smile. A genuine smile. His eyes turned emerald green. Before he turned out the door, he winked at Harry and sauntered out the room.

 

Ron’s mouth was open. He stared at Harry, then at the door, then back at Harry. “Did- did Malfoy just wink at you? Oh my fucking Lord.” He dramatically fanned himself and put his head in the crook of his arm.

 

Fred and George entered the hall, looking smug. They came over to the two boys and sat down. “Why is Ronald being dramatic? What happened now?” Fred asked, pulling Ron’s hair in a loving way. 

 

Ron whacked Fred. “Harry told Malfoy to piss off. Then Malfoy smiled! Like actually smiled! Not his stupid smirk! Then he winked at Harry! WINKED! W-I-N-K-E-D! Then just walked out!”

 

George looked at his twin, laughing. “You owe me five galleons!”

 

Fred groaned. “You took my money last night, you dick!”

 

A squawk was heard at the head table. It was Snape. “Mr Weasley, twenty points from Gryffindor for your foul language!” 

 

Snape glowered at the four boys, his nostrils flaring. He shot them one final dirty look, before going back to his food. 

 

“Greasy bitch.” Was what came out of the twins’ mouth, scarily in sync. They stared at each other, then George thumped his brother on the back. “Come on, Freddy, pay up.”

 

“I don’t have money! You took it last night for whatever reason!” Fred hit his brother back.

 

Harry frowned. “Wait, what did you bet on?”

 

The twins looked to each other, then giggled - yes, giggled. “Well, Potter, that’s a story for another day. Enjoy your dinner, babies.”

 

Harry and Ron stared after their retreating figures, then looked at each other. Harry narrowed his eyes at Ron. He put his hands up, “I have no idea what they bet on!”

 

\--

 

It was a good Christmas. No, not good. The best. The best Christmas Harry had ever had. He had received his father’s old invisibility cloak, a jumper from Mrs Weasley, and a few other things, mostly sweets.

 

Harry loved this feeling. He felt wanted. He spent Christmas with people he actually liked. Christmas at the Dursleys wasn’t nice. He never enjoyed it, he always got Dudley’s old clothes, his broken, misshapen toys from years ago and if he was lucky, maybe even £1 coin. In total, he had collected £3. 

 

He got £1 when he was seven because he had wrapped all of Dudley’s presents. The next was when he was nine. He cooked dinner, cleaned up, then demonstrated to Dudley how to operate his new robot. His uncle gave a £2 coin. Vernon hadn’t realised. Harry wasn’t going to say anything. He wanted that money. He deserved it. 

 

Harry gazed around the dorm. “Ron?”

 

Ron looked up from where he was on the floor. He had Harry’s invisibility cloak over him, only his head, hands and feet visible. He smiled. “Yeeeees?”

 

“I’m glad we’re mates.” He stated, scratching the back of his head. “I’m really happy you didn’t act the way other’s did when I introduced myself. You treated me like a normal person. I’ve never really been treated like a normal person my whole life.”

 

Ron stood, taking the cloak up with him, so now he was just a head. “You’re my best friend. I don’t care if you were the richest person in the world or the poorest. If you’re famous or not. I don’t care about any of that. I look for what a person is on the inside.” He said, poking Harry in the chest as he did so. “You are a good person, a loving person and I am proud to call you not just my friend, but a brother.” 

 

Harry sniffed, wiping his eyes. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” He put his arms out and Ron walked into them, hugging Harry tightly.

 

And there they stood, for a while, in each other's arms, until the twins came storming in, screaming bloody murder about why there were two heads floating in the middle of the room.

 

\--

 

present

  
  


It was cold. Despite wearing a hoodie, thick tracksuits and the fluffiest socks one could imagine, the bitter air still wound its way around Harry’s back, up his neck, then escaping through his hair. Harry was walking the long way to the Black Lake. It was a secluded area, away from Hagrid’s hut, away from the professors prying eyes. It was in the forbidden forest, small walk, on the outskirts of the forest. No one knew Harry snuck out in the night. Most people slept in each other’s beds, it brought them comfort. 

 

He made his way through the path he had made for himself when school started. It was small, barely visible from the entrance of the castle. He tread carefully, stepping on the earth, not wanting to set off any alarms that had been put in place after the war. Any sign of students out of bed after hours was in big trouble. Like staying in McGonagall's office after lessons for the rest of the year trouble. But luckily Harry had the cloak. He used it to his advantage. It was an escape for him. He enjoyed it. 

 

He let out a shaky breath when he reached the opening. But then he frowned. There was another person here. They were sitting on the log Harry liked to sit on, looking up at the sky, playing with their fingers and whispering to themselves. Harry moved forward slowly, trying to work out who it was, a difficult task in the dark. As he got closer, he recognised the features. 

 

Angular and pointy. No longer chubby. It was Malfoy. Harry had hardly seen him since they started school again. If he did see him, he was bent over a book. Harry wanted, so fucking badly, to look into his eyes, knowing that they were blue, and do anything in his power to make them green, or a lighter shade of blue. Harry kind of wanted to start playful banter with him again. His life was getting boring now that they didn’t have their silly arguments. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed them. He sat down next to Malfoys head and looked into his eyes. They were blue. Deep, navy, sea blue. Harry took off the invisibility cloak and continued to stare down at Malfoy. He didn’t even react, merely looked up at Harry, then continued staring at the sky. 

 

“Your eyes are blue,” He said softly, moving Malfoy’s hair out of the way. “Why are they blue?”

 

Malfoy scoffed, eyes following his hands. “Why shouldn’t they be? The world’s gone to shit, Potty. One of my best friends died. The other ones in Azkaban, my dad’s in Azkaban. The only reason mum and I are not in Azkaban is because of you. Mum’s in St Mungos. Blaise has left school, he fucked off to France with his mum. Pansy’s here, but the war fucked with her head and she’s not the same. None of us are.” He sighed. “Especially you.”

 

Harry screwed his eyebrows together. “How so?” 

 

**(AN: MENTIONS OF BLOOD, FIGHTING AND DEATH. Skip if you don’t want to read about it, I’ll make the first and last words bold, so you know when to go back to reading.)**

 

“ **Well** , you started to change at the end of fourth year. Obviously with the death of Cedric, seeing  _ him  _ come back, and being forced to watch the whole thing, and then being forced to duel him? After having your arm slit and watching that rat guy cut his hand off? If that was me, I would’ve just accepted fate and died on the spot.” Harry snorted quietly. “The fact that you duelled him, then managed to escape, is something that is truly amazing. And then after you got dragged off into the castle with Barty Crouch Junior disguised as Mad-Eye, who nearly went fucking nuts on you when you started to question him about what happened in the graveyard, and  _ why  _ he knew about it.

 

“Then, in fifth year, I became a prefect and just started to annoy you, even more, taking the piss out of you because you weren’t a perfect, and everyone had imagined that you would be one, even myself. Thinking about it, I think I just wanted you to be a prefect so I could spend more time with you. Because we would have to do rounds together and whatnot.” Malfoy blushed slightly. “So I could annoy you more, obv-obviously. Then Umbridge came along and you two hit off like gas and flame. You riled each other up. She used to purposely give out the wrong information so you could correct her, giving her an excuse to kick you out of the lesson, then give you detention. The detention obviously resulting in that.” Malfoy gestured to Harry’s hand, which was still in Malfoy’s hair. Harry, not realising his hand had been the other boy’s hair, blushed furiously and pulled away. “Theeen you started doing those lessons, or as Umbridge liked to say, you started a cult. You were merely teaching spells and stuff to everyone. No harm done. I  _ did  _ try and tell Umbridge that, but she just gave the most patronising look and said ‘I wonder what your father would say if I told him that his son was defending Potter!  _ Potter!  _ I think he would disown you, Draco.’ So I got scared. She was right, my dad  _ would  _ disown me if he found out I was speaking about you in a positive tone. I was supposed to be getting my dark mark in the holiday between fifth and sixth year. Vol-  _ he  _ would have made his snake eat me for lunch. 

 

“I knew you guys were in the Room of Requirement. I had seen you, multiple times, going in and out, when I was sent to go and look for you. I always requested to go there by myself, so I could ‘have the pleasure of catching you all myself’, but really I just sat there for hours on end, doing my homework up against the wall, never paying attention. Luna saw me a few times and asked if I wanted to come in. She said you wouldn’t have minded. She was right. You wouldn’t have minded. I should’ve gone in with her. But instead I declined, and every night, just sat outside, doing my homework, not really caring what you lot were doing. Once, I saw you come out in the middle of a session, and I hid. I’m not sure why, but I hid behind a pillar. I was sure that you had seen me, frowned, then went back inside. I was terrified that you were gonna drag me inside with you and interrogate me.

 

“Then, the day before the Christmas holidays, everyone had filed out before you. I had run to the end of the corridor to the left of the door, knowing that no one left that way. You had taken so long to leave the room, I was just certain you left and I just didn’t see you. But I waited. Five minutes I waited. Cho Chang exited, eyes wet, and cheeks flamed. Then you came out. Your face was flushed and you looked like you had just been ravaged by each person that had just walked out the room. You looked ahead, smiled, then waved. Then I knew. That you and Cho had kissed. For some reason, I felt sad, I didn’t know why. I just did. I waited until you left. Then I just sat in the corridor and cried. 

 

“I was upset that I didn’t accept Luna’s offer. That I didn’t just say yes and walked in to you. Told you that I wanted to work with you. That I didn’t want to be on Voldemort’s side. I was angry, that I was born into such a pureblood family. A family that was so pig-headed and obsessed with stay  _ pure  _ that they would rather resort to incest than explore outside their gene pool.” 

 

Malfoy stood, brushing off his pyjama trousers. Harry noted that they were covered in snitches. He laughed silently. He did shop at Fred and George’s shop. Malfoy continued, getting angry, and waving his arms all over the place like he was acting out a soliloquy. 

 

“So, badly, I wanted to tell my dad, Umbridge, just everyone to just  _ fuck off _ because I was just so upset. So angry. Do you know, how much of a fucking nuisance my eyes are? During the Christmas holidays, my eyes were purple. I was angry, which is red, and sad, which is blue. Blue plus red equals purple. My dad went out of his way to buy me everything he knew I liked, not even once addressing how I was feeling, and asking me about it. My mum did, though, she asked me, and we sat in my room, discussing everything. I told her that I didn’t want to be a death eater. I told her that I wanted to go to your side. I told her about  _ you. _ ”

 

Harry opened his mouth. “Told her about me?” He questioned.

 

Malfoy sighed, scratching his neck. For a faint moment, before Malfoy started speaking, his eyes turned a bright rosy colour, then his cheeks followed suit. 

 

“Oh?” Harry’s eyes widened. “ _ Oh. _ ”

 

Malfoy nodded, shifting from foot to foot. “I had convinced myself that it was just a passing crush or something. I broke down when I told my mum. I immediately went to ‘What if I’m  _ gay? _ I would be a disgrace to the Malfoy name and I wouldn’t be able to produce an heir, and keep our “legacy” going’. She was nothing but supportive. She told me that had guessed when I was in the younger years of Hogwarts. In letters home, when I came home from holidays, all I talked about was you. How you were such a good flyer, that you were the youngest Seeker in over a century. I used to go off rambling about how angry I was when you rejected my friendship. I was bitter. I took that anger out in my letters to my mother, just going on and on about you. About how good you were at quidditch, or that when I was happy, my eyes were the same colours as yours and how much I loved having the same eye colour as you. 

 

“When I was younger, I loved you. I had read all about you, your parents, your muggle family, everything. I made a promise to myself that I would at least try to become friends with you when we met. Then I fucked it up because I was rude to you and Weasley. I kicked myself. For fucking ages I hated myself. I had fucked up my only chance to be your friend. So, I thought to myself, the only other way for us to continue talking is for me to make you hate me. It was quite easy, you get riled up pretty quickly.” Malfoy quipped, smirking a little. “So, I was quite content with pissing you off for the next seven years of my life. It was better than having you ignore me, I had thought. 

 

“Anyway, going back to what I was saying. After Umbridge came and started messing with you. Feeding us wrong information, kicking you out when you corrected her, you started to change. Your patience was thinning. You became agitated more easily, hence why I started to annoy you more. Then at the quidditch match and I was rude about your mum, I apologise about that, by the way. You just fucking snapped. It was quite terrifying actually. It’s like all that pent up anger over the year was just released by a comment and you messed up my pretty face because of it. I, for some reason, continued to rile you up after the fight. That’s what I was good at. Making you angry. I took pride in that. I took pride, knowing that I was the only person who could ever make you truly angry.  I knew what made you angry, made you mildly annoyed, or just scoff, and roll your eyes at me.

 

“The day we caught you, I was supposed to go up to the seventh floor by myself, but Pansy and a few others decided to come with me. They were hellbent on getting you guys caught. So I went up with her, we got to the door and I just thought to myself, ‘Potter. Give me Potter.’ The door appeared. Pansy just did the explosion for the theatrics. She’s over the top like that.” Malfoy smiled briefly, his eyes swirling into light green, then suddenly turning red. “I told her not to do it, to wait until you were coming out, then ambushing you and taking you to Umbridge. She wasn’t having it. She sneered at me and asked me why my eyes were yellow. But she knew, she knew why I was scared. After our fight, even though I still made you angry, I had become scared of you, I didn’t talk about other subjects as I did before. I didn’t piss you off as much.

 

“So we caught you, took you to Umbridge’s office, and she interrogated you. The whole time, you weren’t even paying attention to her. You were staring at me. Trust me, when we were looking at each other, I just wanted to scream out ‘I’M NOT ON THEIR SIDE.’ And you just looked at me and nodded, like you knew what I wanted to say. I stayed mute the whole time, piping up only because I wanted to be back in Umbridge’s good books about what I’d said a few weeks before. I was happy when she denied because I really wasn’t going to punish you, I would’ve just walked you to Gryffindor tower and told you to stop fucking around with Umbridge. Snape came into the office and you said something about Padfoot, who I later learned was Sirius Black. Umbridge took you into the Forbidden Forest yadda yadda. When you left, Pansy dragged me back to Slytherin and made me tell her everything. She even threatened to take Veritasium out of Snape’s storeroom and use it on me if I didn’t tell her everything then and there. When Pansy wants something, she’ll get it, no matter how inhumane or barbaric the method. She almost strapped me to my bed.

 

“She strapped you to the bed?” Harry stared at Malfoy, mouth open. “What the fuck?” He whispered, softly. 

 

“My words precisely, Potter. I just dragged her into my room and told her everything. Why it took so long to catch you guys. Why I always wanted to go and watch the door by myself. I told her that it brought me peace. The silence, I could finish three hours worth of homework in forty-five minutes, I told her. She was surprised, that’s for sure. But she pressed on, she kept saying that I’d changed, saying that I didn’t want to get under your skin or piss you off anymore. So I just told her that it was the stress of OWLs, I wanted to get the best possible results to please my father. She didn’t believe me, I knew she didn’t, but she didn’t press the subject. Thankfully.

 

“But as I was saying, I kind of went off topic. You changed after Cedric’s death. You just looked like you had accepted it. Accepted that you were going to have to defeat the most powerful dark wizard of all time. At fourteen, you accepted that it was inevitable that we were going to go to war with him.  _ Fourteen _ . You were one of the younger ones in the year, so you were fourteen when you watched Cedric die when you watched Pettigrew cut his own fucking hand off to resurrect fucking  _ Voldemort _ . You were fourteen when your wrist was slit to help bring him back. Hell, you were fucking fifteen when you watched your Godfather die. You were eleven when you were nearly killed by Quirrell, who had the bastard on the back of his head. In second year, one of your best friend’s was petrified and you were chased around the sewers by a giant fucking serpent. In sixth year you didn’t take anyone’s bullshit. You were so fucking done. I could just sense it. You were done with everyone and everything. The only thing that actually brought you peace was Quidditch. 

 

Malfoy breathed shakily and looked at Harry cautiously. “After the incident in the toilets, I was in the hospital wing for a few days before the cuts healed properly. During seventh year, while you were away, I used to sneak into the toilets. It was stupid, thinking back at it now. While I was in the toilets, I used to scratch at my chest. Not softly, in a way, reminding myself of what happened, no. I used to fucking drag my hands down my chest, making it red raw, the scars, back then, only a few months old, so they would re-open easily. I used to sit in the toilets for so long. I usually went in, and just sat on the toilet, then slowly, I would take my shirt off and look down at my scars. I would curse at myself, calling myself all kinds of names, cursing myself being led to believe that being pure is being better than anything else. I hated myself. I would never talk to anyone. My eyes were always,  _ always  _ blue. Not even Pansy or Blaise could make my eyes flicker to a different colour, not even for a millisecond. They didn’t know what I was doing, they didn’t bother to ask anyway. I used to cry. I used to ball my fucking eyes out. I just wanted out. I wanted out. Not from  _ him _ , just from life. I wanted out from life. I wanted life to stop. I felt like I needed to die. I wanted to. I wanted to, so fucking badly, to die.

 

Harry felt sad. Why was Malfoy telling him all this? “Malfoy, you don’t - you don’t need to tell me this. Don’t feel forced to.”

 

“No. I want to. I want to.” He scratched his head and sighed. “When you came to the Manor during the Easter holidays, I knew it was you. Immediately. No matter how badly your face was fucked up by the spell Granger threw at you. I knew it was you. I recognised your eyes. As I told you, when I was younger I used to love the fact that we had the same eye colour when I was happy. For hours, when I was little, I used to look at pictures of you and your parents that were available from the newspaper from the year your parents were killed, and stare at your eyes. I memorised the exact shade and whenever I felt my eyes change, I used to run up to my mum, screaming at her, asking if it was the same shade. I was a weird child. But I knew it was you because I memorised the shade and I felt my eyes change. I felt them. And I knew you saw them too, then I just knew that at that precise moment, our eyes were the same colour. I just, after looking at you for the first time in nearly a year, felt at peace. You brought me peace, Potter. You being there, made me accept that this was the decision I chose and if I died during this war, I died at one with myself. I thank you for  **that** .

 

“When I saw you next in Hogwarts, you were taking me out of the Room of Requirement. Crabbe died, sadly. He was a sick bastard towards the end of his life. The war had filled him to the brim with hatred, he wasn’t the old Crabbe. You saved me. And when you did, I went and ran and hid in a potions classroom because it was below the classroom. I only came out to see if the fight had ended, then someone punched me in my face and I passed out. When I woke up, Lovegood dragged me outside, because you had gone into the Forbidden forest and Hagrid was bringing you back to the castle. We all rushed as one, eager to see if you had stopped him. When we got there Hagrid was bawling his eyes out and had you pressed up against his chest, mumbling incoherently. Voldemort told him to put you on the floor, he was going to kill you again, in front of everybody. Then you just fucking sprang up. I was still disorientated, but I threw you my wand. You looked dumbfounded. But then you guys started circling each other and then you just  _ fought _ , and it was the hot - _incredible_ \- most incredible thing I have ever seen.”

 

Harry didn’t know what to say. He’d just spent the last fifteen minutes listening to his once arch nemesis monologuing. He stood and just stared. For hours it seemed like, that the two boys just looked at each other, Malfoy in his Slytherin jumper and snitch covered pyjama bottoms, Harry in his dull red hoodie and bright pink tracksuits. They looked at each other, the wall of seven years of hating each other, slowly, every so slowly, with time, lots and lots of time, ebbing away and the glimpse of friendship visible on the other side.

 

  
  



End file.
